


Together

by kylosbrickhousebody



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Angry Kylo Ren, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Choking, Come Eating, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Filthy, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Choking, Force-Sensitive Reader, Gratuitous Smut, Inappropriate Use of Lightsabers, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Light Dom/sub, Mildly Dubious Consent, My First Fanfic, My First Smut, My First Work in This Fandom, Naked Female Clothed Male, Possessive Kylo Ren, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Submissive Character, Top Kylo Ren, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-25 02:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13824849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylosbrickhousebody/pseuds/kylosbrickhousebody
Summary: EDIT: Very workshoppy and defunct. Lots of experimental scenes, some of which aren't novel. Not updating, not proud.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off: this was the very first fan-fiction I wrote (fiction in general, really), first Star Wars fic, and first smut fic. I started Mercurial only a week or two later, but boy did I learn some important things about writing in those 1-2 weeks. Anyways, this fic is definitely super unpolished, and more a mash-up of a bunch of ideas and tropes I'd read about in other fan-fictions/favorite books/favorite movies; it's definitely more of an experimental toes-in-the-water kind of thing that came out a lot more gratuitous than I'd intended (which is why I started over and made Mercurial). So, long story short: sorry. This isn't a great attempt at really telling a story, but I hope you'll find redeeming qualities in it somewhere.
> 
> To the 'inspirations' end: I'm absolutely not implying any of the following authors endorse this work (they shouldn't -- it's a bit of a mess) or have any involvement with it (they don't). But, as far as reading I did beforehand and narratives I personally appreciated: Three Blind Tooke by ElmiDol, Teach Me To Be Yours / Reteach Me by Jay2Noir, Thesmophoria by d00biusc0nsent, lots of works by bestwithalisp, lots of works by kassanovella, lots of works by Faestae, Ms. Figg on FF, The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, The Crimson Petal and the White by Michael Faber, literally the entire Masters of the Shadowlands series by Cherise Sinclair (which is what safe/sane/consensual kink looks like!), Sweeney Todd (Sondheim/Burton movie edition), et al to be credited as I remember them.
> 
> \-----
> 
> I'm re-posting this chapter-by-chapter gradually instead of the all-at-once post I did originally.
> 
> Please check the tags if you're easily triggered. There are graphic depictions of sex and other adult themes in this fic; not for the very vanilla reader. Also note that this was my very first fanfic (aww), smut (aww?), etc -- so some parts of this are a little underdeveloped here and there. But hey, there's sex.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments!
> 
> For related moodboards, see: https://www.pinterest.com/Kylosbrickhousebody/
> 
> For related Reylo/Kylo playlists, see: https://open.spotify.com/user/2lsivtn9heztapydvsgoky2x6?si=g2ndlw4vTUCQFqnK4iQtlA  
> or  
> spotify:user:2lsivtn9heztapydvsgoky2x6
> 
> Tumblr: https://kylosbrickhousebody.tumblr.com/

You sat silently, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea of Cantonica. You came here often, seeking something: what, you didn’t always know. You thought it was beautiful here—as beautiful as something could ever be. It was the biggest sea in the galaxy, and it made you feel like nothing. It made it feel like everyone was nothing—and that was a good thing: there was a lot you wanted to forget.

Years ago, you’d loved someone. As children, you ran through the streets of Galactic City with other force-sensitives; none of you saw class yet. Good and bad were still black and white concepts, abstract as abstract could be. You listened eagerly to your Masters about the virtues of the light, play-fighting each other with sticks as you dreamed of becoming Jedi. But nothing gold can stay.

As you grew older, your group of playmates dwindled. The city was divided politically; the less-fortunate kids began getting effectively shut out of the training programs, forced to find work to help their families survive these harder times. You would’ve been one of them in another life; but in this one, your parents had left you as a newborn to the care of the Temple, too poor to raise you themselves. The Masters had sensed your power in wielding the force from a young age, and you’d become close with some of them and their families through the years.

When the training program numbers hit a critical low, a task force was assembled to determine reparative steps to ensure the training of the new generation of Jedi. Most politicians called for calm, for minor reforms to the City training program, as though nothing was wrong. But each Master stood firm in their own belief systems, as did the politicians; soon, splinter groups formed, each Master choosing their own select group of students and leaving the city behind.

You were chosen by Luke Skywalker.

He’d taken a liking to you as a child, fascinated with the ease in which you seemed to understand the force. Skywalker, like all Masters, was biased: he took best to students with obvious abilities. Everyone in your selected group showed some strong inclination towards the force; you pushed each other in training. When your group formed and left the city to build a temple of your own, this competitive culture began to create divides among the pupils—but also created partnerships.

For as long as you could remember, you’d fought with Skywalker’s nephew—also a student in the new group. When you were little, you’d tease each other relentlessly. Having grown up in a family of celebrities, he always seemed to know more than you—but your abilities to learn were equally quick. He’d often teach you new skills on the training court, only to use them against you a second later. You’d get back at him by showing him a move his uncle had taught you, but not yet him—and so the cycle continued. As much as you outwardly hated each other, a sort of tentative trust developed over time.

Many things changed when your new group formed, but that wasn’t one of them. As late teenagers, your fighting skills had matured to a level beyond the other students in the class. You were assigned to each other as sparring partners; he seemed to revel in beating you up, and you, him. But a desire to help each other up also grew, and so too did that trust. You’d both known the other would never take it easy on you, nor tell a lie to make you feel better.

Together, you began to explore the force outside of training. You were both fascinated by the ease of channeling the force from darker emotions—anger, sadness, fear. Tasks that took strenuous effort by drawing on the light felt so simple when you dipped a bit into the dark. Both of you thought it was harmless, using a bit of anger to draw on the force; it seemed like so much more good could be done if only you were willing to harness your negative emotions, too.

As you continued to train and experiment as partners, a relationship developed, though neither of you would admit to it—only to being ‘allies’. He’d show you a new skill and strike you down like in the old days; you’d return the favor. You made each other stronger, for better or for worse. When you fought, it was a sight to behold; your relationship wasn’t the healthiest, what with you having been raised as fighters. You’d go at each other almost as if you were attacking an enemy, hitting, and slapping, and biting, and choking. You still had scars from some of your fights where he’d won out, and you knew he did too; neither of you ever bothered to say it wouldn’t happen again when you apologized, because you knew it would.

You were volatile together, and he was possessive—it felt good even if it was sick: the training beating-each-other-up, the fighting beating-each-other-up, the confiding, the trust. He’d pulled you into his bed one night and you never really left. You grew nearly inseparable, each seducing the other with hopes and dreams, with the close connection you both felt to the force. A force-bond developed as you continued meddling with darker emotions, and he especially grew to romanticize the power that drawing on darkness brought—but you didn’t mind. You knew your intentions were good: to harness these powers to fight for the republic.

You don’t remember much about the night it happened; you’d blocked most of it out. Unless you tried hard to remember—and you didn’t want to—you could only recall fleeting pieces. You remember meditating before bed, outside; you had a favorite spot near the lake. Then you’d heard a loud crash coming from his hut—the roof had caved in. He ran out, towards the Temple. Then it was burning. The other students were screaming. His frenzied, furious eyes and an outstretched hand, screaming at you that he’d killed people. Pleading with you to come with him; telling you that you could build something great together. But you had stood still, too shocked and too scared. From what you can remember, you stood there for a long time—long after he left, until help arrived on the scene.

For a while, you were counted under the ranks of the resistance. You were drawn to General Organa; you shared a common loss, the loss of Ben Solo. But she was disillusioned with the idea that her son was still out there—that the same boy she knew once could be recovered. You had no such faith; you knew him better than anyone, you knew the resolve with which he made decisions. Something had happened between him and Luke Skywalker that triggered the dark side within him—even if there was light left, he wouldn’t admit it. He called to you through the force bond at first, but you were furious he’d killed—furious he wanted to keep killing. For a long time, you blocked him out completely. Then only flashes of him and his activities appeared to you, and soon that trickled off too: soon you could only see him if you desperately wanted to.

For a while after the Temple arson and murders, you were questioned relentlessly. Skywalker had exiled himself, refusing to talk about what had happened that night, so nothing could be gleaned from him; instead, you were held by the authorities, who compelled you to use the force bond to give details of his whereabouts. This only worked for a few days, as he quickly caught on when resistance forces kept almost catching up to him. Then he blocked you out, just as you’d done to him.

Now you understood why Skywalker had gone into exile. You hated yourself; you blamed yourself for helping to create a monster, blamed yourself for shutting him out, blamed yourself for taking up resistance resources when you felt like a traitor. So you, too, defected.

You came to Cantonica for anonymity. You roamed the desert at first, desperate to be alone, desperate to think about nothing at all. You survived off the small rations you brought. You screamed into the desert, at yourself, at him, at everyone. You sobbed yourself to sleep. Mostly, you felt the deep loss of a partner; you were unstable without his support, much as he grew increasingly unstable without yours. You wandered into Canto Bight when you needed supplies—it was just as anonymous there as the Cantonica desert: no one really cared about anyone else, just bought and sold for what they wanted. For the first few years, you heard nothing about him—you thought perhaps you could forget. You worked security for the casinos and kept to yourself like everyone else. It was boring, but that’s what you needed. Then the whispers started; whispers about the deeds of the Knights of Ren and the First Order, whispers about the dark leader Snoke, whispers about his Jedi-killer named Kylo Ren. As news of his conquests spread, you knew what had become of Ben Solo; you’d know him anywhere.

Though the force bond had faded into a background hum over the years, sometimes you felt a tug—a tug that couldn’t have been coming from yourself. Unlike his mother, you’d never had any misconceptions that you could save him; you had less hope in the world. But sometimes you wondered if you should go to him, if not just to see what he would do when you refused to join his cause; you’re not sure if you cared if you lived or died anyways, not after all these years of monotony and loneliness.

You looked down, rubbing one of the scars he left; you thought about how easy it would be slip off the end of the cliff and never think of anything again. You felt a pang of despair as you gathered up your things to work another shift—guarding nothing of value, kicking out drunks, watching fake people play table games for fake love. Nothing seemed to matter. You felt that tug again in your heart as you set out walking.

Although you tried to shove everything out of your head, you paused outside of the city. You breathed in deeply, unsure of what you wanted to do anymore. When you were teenagers, you’d said you’d die by the other’s side, whether in battle or old age. Perhaps it was time to keep that promise, you thought—you were still sure your destinies wouldn’t allow for anything less. Perhaps it’s time you go to die, you thought.

You sighed and turned away from the city, towards the shipyard. You walked there slowly, each step labored. You didn’t really want to die, but you didn’t want to live this existence either; you needed closure. You let your resentment course through you as you waved one hand in front of the shipyard guard, drawing on the dark side briefly to compel him to let you through—and ignore what you were about to do. You found a personal navigator pod in the yard and climbed inside it tentatively. Then you gathered all your might, and demanded that your mind find him. You saw only a brief static-filled flash for the briefest of moments, but it was enough: struggling to catch your breath, you programmed the coordinates to enter the descent trajectory to dock at the  _Finalizer._  Cursing yourself under your breath, you hit launch, and went unconscious as the pod sped away, leaving the planet, and jumped to lightspeed.

When you awake,  _Finalizer_ foreign object clearance and traffic control was trying to contact you. You mumbled something unintelligible as the trooper on the radio demanded your response. “State the purpose of your request for landing” the gruff voice said.

“I’m here to see Kylo Ren.” You spat the name out, sounding equal parts unsure and ridiculous. The man on the other end scoffed, and you could hear him in the background telling the others, “She’s ‘here to see Kylo Ren’”, followed by chuckles.

“Of course you are,” he said, amusement dripping from his voice. “You’re cleared for landing.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0 to 100 real fast; this was my first fic, and I was in a rush to get to smut/kink. It shows. It's implied that Ben Solo/Reader had a light dom/sub relationship in the past (Ben is slightly older than Reader), which is a dynamic that carries through into these events (now tainted with Kylo's aggressiveness). For this reason, you may fairly consider this to be dubious consent. Please only read if that isn't going to trigger you -- and also recognize that this fic in no way endorses real-life dubious consent or non-con scenarios.

You didn’t respond; you knew the controllers were only letting you land to take you prisoner, perhaps to let Phasma play with you before killing you. But it was all just the same; you knew if you set foot onto the base, he’d know soon enough.

You were knocked unconscious again by the gravitational forces of the descent, and awoke to being roughly torn out of the pod seat. Your bag of meager belongings was ripped from your hand by a stormtrooper, and your lightsaber confiscated by another.

“Hey—this one’s got a saber” he said, looking at the others in disbelief.

“Call Phasma” another said, a hint of franticness in his helmet-warped voice. Your hands were pulled behind your back and shackled, followed by your feet, as you waited. Suddenly you heard loud, metallic footsteps, and you were dragged out of the hangar by your chains. You were roughly forced onto your knees by the troops behind you, and a gloved hand held your chin up, forcing you to look up into the face of another helmet. Immediately, you recognized Phasma from resistance intel and forced yourself to swallow.

“It’s her…” the voice from the helmet murmured under its breath. “Take her to Ren. Now,” she ordered, suddenly sounding dangerous.

The troopers jerked into action, pulling you up and away. You were dragged down a series of halls, each looking gloomier than the last, before being shoved into an elevator. There, they blindfolded you and held it tight over your eyes; you heard only the slight noise of a button being pressed. And then you felt the car moving up, up, up—how many floors you couldn’t know—before coming to a brisk stop and being shoved out of the elevator. Again you were dragged down a series of halls, through a series of what sounded like security checkpoints—the troopers identified themselves each time—and came to rest suddenly.

“Should you tell him, or should I?” one of the troopers said. The other seemed to audibly gulp, and you heard a door in front of you slide open as the trooper who stood behind removed your blindfold. You stared intently at the floor, wishing you could melt into it.

“I beg your forgiveness for the interruption, Commander Ren,” you heard the trooper say from inside the room with more than a hint of fear in his voice. “Captain Phasma ordered this prisoner brought to you.”

You heard the trooper returning, and the two of them grabbed you—one taking each arm—and dragging you forward into the room. You kept your gaze on the floor still, too afraid of what you might see if you looked. You were forced down on your knees again, harder than the last time, and the troopers stepped back. You heard only silence for a few moments, followed by slow footsteps towards you. A gloved hand took hold of your jaw and forced your face up—your heart skipped a beat as you met the stare of the helmet above you. You couldn’t see him, but still you’d know him anywhere. Your heart beat hard and fast as the man you’d once loved looked down on you, unreadable behind his helmet.

A few more moments of silence passed before a brisk, “Take her to my quarters.” The cold, filtered voice was steady, equally unreadable and expressionless. You forced yourself to breathe again as he turned his back to you and you were whisked away.

How many hours you’d been left alone in his quarters, you didn’t know: you were shoved in and the door closed behind you quickly, as if they knew you were a threat. The door had been bolted, and you knew there must be guards outside. You’d sat down in a chair in the corner, staring at your hands for a while, then surveying the room. It was large but simple: no windows, no real colors, just a large bed and the usual bedroom furniture. There was a room leading off to the left of where you sat—a refresher, you assumed. You didn’t feel brave enough to explore. You just sat and waited for your death—and, you assumed, mocking commentary to accompany it.

Some amount of time later—minutes, hours, you weren’t sure—the door swung open and shut in a flash. You forced yourself to stare down at your hands, though you knew it was him. He had stopped and was, you were sure, staring at you. More footsteps followed, until you saw black boots in front of you.

“Well?” a cold metallic voice said, full of static and warped from the voice you came to know so well.

You stayed silent. The gloved hand again took hold of your jaw and forced you to look up. He was taller, broader than you remembered him.

He waited for an answer.

“Just kill me” you whispered softly, a hint of emotion in your voice as you choked it back.

A harsh chuckle came from above as the figure started to pace in front of you. “Why would I do that?”

“Ben—“

The figure turned and backhanded you hard across the face.

“That’s not my name,” the voice said as you blinked back tears and set your jaw.

In your peripheral, you saw a glove come off. The ungloved hand reached up and stroked the side of your face gently—almost in apology.

“We’re not partners anymore,” the voice said. “I’m stronger now.”

“It was a mistake to come—“

You had tried to stand, and he shoved you back down into the chair by your shoulders. He took the other glove off and continued pacing. After a moment, he said simply, “Yes, it was.”

Silence fell between you.

“Kill me,” you murmured. He stopped and reached up to undo the latches of his helmet, throwing it aside with a loud thud, making you jump.

You were too afraid to look at his face, to acknowledge that this was someone you once knew—not just a monster.

He crouched down, forcing you to meet his eyes—the same eyes you remembered.

“I’m not going to do that,” he said to you, almost as if you wanted reassurance.

“Ben, plea—“

He cut you off, shoving two fingers in your mouth at the mention of his birth name. “Don’t call me that” he said evenly, placing his thumb below your chin to keep his fingers in your mouth as you turned your head to the side.

He forced you to look at him again. “You should have come with me,” he said in a bitter sneer. “Now you have no choice but to follow—you could have ruled with me.”

You couldn’t say anything, you could only match his stare.

He sighed, considering you for several minutes. Then he started stroking your tongue.

“Suck my fingers,” he murmured softly, gazing at you as he stroked them in and out of your mouth slowly.

You bit down instead, and he withdrew quickly with a small cry of pain, slapping your face again with his other hand.

“Bitch!” he hissed, sucking the blood off his fingers.

You seethed up at him, your chest rising and falling in anger. Your cheek felt red, but there was no gesture of apology this time. Instead he made a fist in your hair and pulled your head back.

“None of that. Understand?” he said in a condescending tone, as if you were a child who’d done something to annoy him. He waited for an answer you wouldn’t give.

He let the bitterness hang in the air for a few moments before releasing your hair and storming out of the room.

You gasped for air, not realizing you had been holding your breath. And then you cried, long sobs wracking your body. You cursed yourself for coming here—you had been weak and sought familiarity out of loneliness; you’d been pursuing a false hope, just like General Organa. He wasn’t even going to kill you. Just toy with you, force you to become a tool of the First Order.

After what felt like hours, you stood on shaky knees—still shackled—and hobbled pathetically to use the refresher. Then you made your way back to the bed, collapsing on your side, starting to cry again until you fell asleep.

You awoke to the smell of food. With much difficulty, you managed to sit up, and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed spooning a goulash into his mouth. It was one of your favorite meals; he was teasing you.

“Want some?” he said, smirking as he met your gaze. You looked away and swallowed hard. “Mhm, I think that’s a yes,” he said with an annoying amusement dripping from his voice as he walked over and sat down next to you. “Just one thing,” he said, extending his middle and ring fingers to you.

You glared at him and turned up your nose.

“Suit yourself,” he said as if he didn’t care, continuing to eat as you looked on.

Your stomach betrayed you, issuing an audible grumble, and he smirked. He finished a moment later, gathering the sauce on the rim of the bowl with his fingers and holding them out to you again.

“You’re sick,” you spat.

“And you’re obstinate,” he countered, leaving his fingers extended for a few moments before licking the sauce off himself in front of you. “Have it your way.”

He opened the door, placed the bowl outside, and locked it again.

“Would you like the shackles off?” he asked.

“Are you going to want to shove your fingers down my throat in return?” you quipped.

“I think I’ll save that pleasure for food” he said, smirking. “Is that a yes?”

You gave a short nod in his direction and looked away, ashamed you’d even answered. He offered no commentary as he undid your restraints, kneeling to release your feet, then turning you around to free your hands. He rubbed the welts on your wrists and stood, pulling you to your feet and pulling your back against his chest. He leaned down and brushed your ear with his lips.

“You’re mine,” he whispered softly.

You elbowed him hard, but he’d seen it coming, holding your wrists tight with one large hand and forcing your face down into the bed with the other.

“What did I say?” he chastised. He patiently waited for an answer; when it became clear none would come, he stepped back and slapped your ass. “What did I say?” he repeated.

“Not to hurt you,” you breathed.

“Good” said, caressing where he had slapped. “Or what?” he prompted, laying a threatening hand on your other cheek.

“Or you’ll hurt me” you said, barely above a whisper.

“That’s right” He paused, bending over you slightly. “I’ll punish you. Now what do you say?” he breathed, rubbing the cheek again as he waited for his answer.

You bit down on the sheets, refusing him. He slapped one cheek and then the other, harder than before. “What do you say?” he asked dangerously soft, whispering into your ear.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, tears threatening to form.

“Good girl,” he murmured appreciatively, letting go of your wrists and leaving you bent over his bed.

He went to the refresher, washed his hands, and returned; you had scrambled out of the vulnerable position and onto the bed, pulling the covers up a bit. He chuckled, “So eager to sleep with me again.”

You shot him a dirty look as he climbed into the bed next to you, switching the lights off and closing his eyes. “Oh,” he said, sounding unconcerned, “and don’t try to attack me in the night. You won’t like what happens if you do.” And with that, he rolled over and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you to him just like he used to do. He nuzzled your hair as if nothing was wrong, and nestled your head into his neck, his breathing slowly becoming shallow.

You stared off into the darkness as he slept, pressed against you. He seemed so peaceful, like a shade of his former self—just meaner, more possessive, fighting you for dominance. You pushed this thought out of your head and willed yourself to sleep.

You woke up to light kisses on your neck.

“You must be hungry” he said teasingly, running his thumb over your lips.

You sighed, eyeing his thumb. “If I—will you—?” he smirked, kissing your neck again and working his way up to your ear. It was humiliating; a shiver ran down your spine as he toyed with you.

“I think I want you to suck something else now” he whispered, not bothering to disguise the suggestiveness in his voice.

“No,” you said, jerking away from him. He caught hold of you and pulled you back, wrapping both arms around you.

“You’ve done it for me so many times before,” he purred into your ear. “You used to enjoy it,” he added seductively, smirking when you blushed.

When no response came, he grabbed the pillow under your head and tossed it casually onto the ground. He sat up, dipping an arm under your knees and lifting you, setting you down next to the bed as he scooted to the end of it.

He set his hands on your shoulders and pushed down gently, indicating you should kneel. You obeyed, knowing he’d fight you until you did. He brushed the hair out of your face with his left hand while unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with the other, pulling them and his boxers down. His hand snaked through your hair again.

“I’ll do most of the work this time. Just get me started,” he said, leaning back a bit on the bed, his hand on the back of your head. You hesitated, looking up at him—he looked the same to you, only older. More tired. He nudged your head closer but continued to wait.

You swallowed and looked down, his half hard cock near your lips. He could force himself between them, but he wanted to see you take him in your mouth. You took a deep breath, pretending he was still the man you knew, and took the head into your mouth.

He let out an appreciative hiss and you felt his leg muscles tense as he strained against the urge to thrust. He guided your head down to take more of his cock, groaning as your tongue ran along his shaft. He let you lick and suck him tentatively for a few moments until he hardened. Then he rose, standing in front of you with his cock still in your mouth. He placed his hands on either side of your head.

“Stick your tongue out and keep your mouth open for me” he ordered breathlessly, thrusting once into your mouth and pulling himself back out. He continued working his way in and out of your mouth, sliding along your tongue, using it to stimulate the underside of his shaft. He thrust more of his cock into your mouth each time. Jerking his hips forward once he got close to the base, he pinched your nose, allowing him to slide into your throat as you gasped. He fucked your mouth then in quick strokes, gagging you on his girth, which only made your mouth slicker with spit. Your hands flew up to his thighs and his hand fell away, letting your catch your breath.

“Look at me” he said in a desperate tone, forcing your head down when you met his eyes so that you deepthroated him. Your eyes watered from the pressure in your throat, and he pulled out with a pop. He took hold of your hair again with his left hand, pulling your head back slightly as he started stroking himself with his right. He worked his foreskin up and over the head of his cock, pulling it back down, repeating. Then he grabbed hold of his cock and started jerking his wrist, breathing heavily as he looked down at you. He continued to jerk himself off for a few seconds, picking up speed and finally ejaculating strings of cum on your face.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like that” he breathed, pushing his cock back in your mouth. “Suck the last of it off me and I’ll get you breakfast.”

You tasted the salt of his cum on your tongue, sucking gently for a moment before he withdrew from your mouth and pulled his pants back up. He left the room briefly, and you heard him say something to what you could only assume were the troopers outside. Then he re-entered, grabbed a hand towel from the refresher and wet it, and started wiping his cum off your face. “I hate to see it go,” he teased.

You scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes.

“There are worse trades,” he purred, tossing the towel into a basket when he was done. “I have needs, you have needs. Meet mine and I’ll meet yours. Same as always.”

“It’s not the same,” you objected. “You never would have withheld food.”

He let out a small noise of thought, pausing for a few moments before returning an answer. “I won’t when it becomes clear you know your place here,” he said to you, as if a compromise.

He had headed for the door, taking a tray of food and a small hamper from the trooper outside and gesturing you to the bed, handing the tray over to you there.

“Breakfast and some clothes,” he said simply. He turned away and set down the hamper down at the end of the bed and pulled on a new shirt for himself, followed by his boots.

He headed out the door without a backwards glance.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beep boop, more sex because that's basically what this fic is.

You glanced down at the tray of food once he’d gone. It was a full breakfast: scrambled eggs, a large sausage, fruit—the kind of breakfast he liked. You scooped some eggs into your mouth, eager to stop the hunger pangs you’d been feeling even though it made you feel like a traitor. You closed your eyes in bliss as you ate, cutting up the sausage and savoring the protein—you could at least feel some strength returning to you. You finished with the fruit, chewing as you looked around the room. It really was bland, you thought. There was nothing entertaining; and nothing you could make a weapon out of either, you noted with annoyance. It seemed almost intentional.

You got up and paced around his room. It seemed like him, to keep his space so simple and clean—he’d been that way years ago, too. There was nothing sharp here: no windows, and the mirrors set into the walls. Furniture was bolted down. You could use the force to rearrange things and barricade the door, but you knew a head-to-head match of power between you was unlikely to result in your victory.

You sighed, walking into the refresher. You turned the hot water of the shower on and stepped in; hopefully a strategy would come to mind—what were you even going to do here? He refused your requests for death, and only seemed to by toying with you since: what was his end-game? You didn’t know. You washed your body, enjoying the sensation of the hot water pouring over you. You yawned as you worked shampoo and conditioner through your hair. You’d been up much of the night, trying to figure out what you were going to do—you hadn’t gotten much sleep. You stepped out of the shower gingerly, careful not to slip on the cold floor as you dried yourself off. Groaning at the bags under your eyes in the mirror, you wandered over to the hamper of clean clothes he’d left. Among them was a snug set of thermal pajamas, like the ones you used to wear to bed with him on cold nights. “Cute,” you said sarcastically, “He’s playing house with me now.”

You sighed, changing into the clothes that were all too comfortable and all too familiar —why couldn’t he have supplied you with rags so you could hate him like you wanted to? With this thought, you climbed back into bed, eager to catch up on sleep. Maybe an idea would come to you in a dream

When you awoke, it was to the sound of the door crashing open. You jolted upright, barely remembering where you were; you glanced around still dreary-eyed, registering your surroundings. He had stormed in, looking mad as hell. He ignored you for a moment as his chest rose and fell, kicking his boots off so violently they flew across the room. Then the helmet came off, meeting the same fate. He seemed to have recovered some presence of mind in that moment, closing the door behind him and breathing heavily for a few moments. Then he walked over to the end of the bed and held both hands up as if to shrug. “Missed me?” he half-yelled sarcastically, a hint of self-hatred in his voice.

You returned his stare for a few moments, unsure of what to do. “Ben...” your voice trailed off as he made a hiss of disapproval and started to pace.

“I thought I told you not to fucking call me that” he said angrily. “You know, I go by ‘Ren’. It’s not that fucking different. Why is this so hard for you?” He had asked rhetorically, you knew, so you said nothing and stared down at your hands instead. He issued a huff, opened the door again, and said something quietly to the guards outside.

You tensed your jaw, grinding your teeth while you waited for him to say something. When he didn’t after several long minutes, you looked up; he was sat on a stood across the room, head in his hands as if he had a headache. Then, almost as if he knew you were watching—you were sure he in fact did—he glanced at you, sitting up a bit.

“B-Ren?” you repeated softly.

“What?” he scowled, face twisting in annoyance.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re angry?”

He was silent for a few minutes. “No” he said firmly, holding his gaze as he got up and walked over, bending over the end of the bed towards you. “I’m not telling you anything until you’re on my side” he breathed, almost annoyed that you hadn’t immediately begged to join his forces.

“I should think you’ll be waiting a long time then” you uttered defiantly, garnering a chuckle you hadn’t expected.

“We’ll see” he responded, voice soft but with a taunting undertone.

In that moment, there was a knock at the door. He answered, waved his hand once, and two trays of food levitated into the room. Closing the door, he waved once more and they sped over to the bed, setting themselves down on each side. Yours contained the same food but in smaller portions, you noted with slight annoyance; you’d used to be the same size, and shared the same meals to maintain the muscles built by training. But he had grown—things had changed. You resented all of it.

“Dinner” he said lazily. “Not poisoned” he added, smirking at his own joke as he sat up on the other side of his bed.

There was nothing especially fancy—chicken, vegetables, some rice—bland but got the job done. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he ate this way all the time; the blandness of his room indicated a cold, utilitarian mindset to the core. You said nothing, eating slowly and staring at the opposite wall. He finished eating quickly as though out of habit.

“You really should eat more” he said as though admonishing you when you put your fork down. “You’ve lost weight, I can tell. You shouldn’t have let your strength from our training days fade.”

“And you shouldn’t have burned shit down and killed people” you quipped, setting aside your fork and glaring at him. “But here we are.”

He held the glare for a few moments before flipping his tray aside and throwing yours off you. Climbing on top of you, he grabbed your wrists hard and held them down.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult” he said a dangerous edge in his voice. There was no mocking now. “Join me” he said, “just tell me yes. I’ll teach you everything. I’ll protect you” he added, his voice going soft.

You fought against his hold and he held you down harder. “I can’t” you gasped.

“You can” he said firmly. “And you will.”

“Or what?”

He faltered. He looked down at you for a few long moments, the expression on his face for once unreadable. “Or Snoke will use your powers by force and dispose of you when done.”

He didn’t need to tell you who Snoke was. The whispers you’d heard back in Cantonica were of an apprentice of Snoke—you’d put these pieces together already.

You blinked. Yes, you’d begged for death, but death by such a mortal enemy wasn’t what you’d wanted; you’d wanted to force the man you once knew to do it, to pay for what he’d done. It was deeply fucked up, you knew, but you’d wanted to simultaneously fix all your problems and stick it to him. This wouldn’t be that kind of death.

He continued, seeming to detect a flash of fear in your eyes. “My Master thinks it best that you turn of your own accord; he thinks you would be a stronger weapon, if you wanted to be in the first place” he explained slowly, deliberately. “But you only have so much time before you’ll be forced.”

“I won’t” you said, shaking your head, tears forming in your eyes.

He leaned down suddenly and kissed your forehead. “This doesn’t have to be hard” he repeated. “I can make it easy for you” he whispered, kissing down your neck as he held you down.

His touch felt so familiar, so comforting, and you screamed internally that it shouldn’t: that it should feel sick, and foreign, and unwanted. But it didn’t. He met your eyes, smirking slightly. “I’m the same as before, only better” he whispered, planting light kisses on your neck between the words.

“You’re not” you spat, jerking upwards to try to shove him off you.

A small groan of annoyance escaped his lips. “Don’t do that” he breathed, bearing down on you and brushing his lips against yours. “I know you want me.”

You again tried to shove him, and one hand flew up to your neck, his thumb pressing into your artery.

“Touch yourself. Touch yourself while I choke you” he breathed seductively, leading your freed hand down to your pants. You hesitated; you’d been into rough sex as a couple, but now he was exploiting it, letting his possessiveness spill over into these sick prisoner-of-war negotiations.

“Do it or I’ll do it for you” he threatened softly, lessening his grip on your neck so that he was applying pressure but you could still breathe.

You slipped your right hand under the waistband of your pants, running your fingers over your clit timidly. He let go of your other wrist and yanked your bottoms to your knees, shifting his gaze down. You pulled your legs up a bit and spread them, circling your clit with your fingers.

“Fuck” he groaned, tugging his own pants down and switching the hand on your neck, using his dominant hand to start stroking himself as he watched you. You rubbed circles on your clit faster as he started masturbating to you. You closed your eyes.

“No” he commanded, his voice strained. “Look at me” he ordered, and as your eyes found his he tightened his grip on your neck, pressing his thumb into you hard again.

You gasped for breath as he jerked himself faster, then watched as he stopped altogether to reach down and slip a finger inside you. His cock jerked when his finger entered. “You’re already so wet for me” he breathed into your ear, letting you breathe again as he worked his finger in and out of you fast.

Small sounds of protest escaped your lips as tears began to form from the intense pleasure, the palm of his hand rubbing your clit with every stroke. He released your neck all at once and climbed down the bed with his fingers still inside you as you gasped for air. He bent down, pulling your knees up and onto his shoulders, and with his tongue flat licked from your opening to your clit. He repeated this action as you gasped and began to squirm away, which prompted a threatening look from him. You willed yourself to stay still as he pressed his mouth against your clit, sucking on it hard as you moaned. He licked and sucked on you hungrily, forcing a third finger into you and working them in and out of your fast.

Then at all once, his touch was gone. He straightened up to kneel between your legs, pulling your knees up to rest on either side of him, as his hands returned to his cock.

“Look at me” he strained, jerking his cock a few times when you met his eyes. He bent over you, grasping his cock and rubbing it from your clit to your entrance, where he paused.

“Tell me you need me” he murmured with a smirk as he looked down at you.

You knew he meant more than just sexually, and you cursed your traitorous body as your hips bucked up, trying to press him into you. But he pulled away slightly so he wouldn’t slip in, raising an eyebrow at you and smiling deviously.

“Tell me you need me” he whispered firmly, taking his time on each word.

You blinked back tears of frustration as he waited patiently at your entrance for the words he wanted to hear.

“I need you” you whispered so softly it was almost inaudible.

“What?” he prompted, slipping the tip of his cock into you. “I can’t hear you.”

“I need you” you groaned louder as he stretched you.

And without waiting for you to finish the last syllable, he thrust himself hard into you as you cried out.

“It hurts” you objected, having mostly avoided sex in Cantonia.

“I know” he said, pausing for you to adjust to his girth, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight” he groaned as you pulsed around him. He pulled out slowly and worked his way back in, picking up speed as he started thrusting in you.

You reached up and grabbed his shoulders instinctively as he held himself above you, plunging in and out of you hard—almost desperately—as your mind screamed at you that this was the enemy. But there was no being reasoned with as he pounded you, grunting as he hit bottom each time. You reached down and rubbed your clit hard, arching your back up as you felt orgasm approaching.

Sensing you were close, he bent to whisper to you. “You’re mine” he panted into your ear between hard strokes, “and my cum is going in your tight little pussy tonight.” And with that, as much as you hated yourself for it, you felt your body tense and explode around his cock, sending shock waves through your body. He bucked up into you hard, grunting as you felt his cock pulse hard a few times as he came.

He collapsed on you, his full weight bearing down on you as you gasped for breath. He sucked on your neck, pulling out of you and rolling onto his side.

“You’re a dirty little girl” he murmured with a smirk, “No shower until the morning. I want you to feel my cum leak out and dry on your thighs.”

He kissed your lips once and turned out the lights.


	4. 4

You lay there quietly on your back and closed your eyes, conflicting emotions coursing through you. You remembered all the times you shared when you were still two confused kids training to become Jedi: when you were both balanced in the light and the dark. Choking back a sob, you wiped a tear from your eye. He had changed, but there were so many shades of his former self left behind—a flash of emotion in his eyes, a tender caress, the desire to be close to you. Anger rose and flared within him, but so too did the light, you knew. He wouldn’t admit to it, but it was there, as alive as ever—just buried deeper within him.

As you lay there, you felt a distinct pang for his touch. You wanted to be held and loved like he used to do; you wanted to feel protected and safe—you wanted to prove to yourself that part of him was the same. You listened to his breathing: calm, but not sleeping yet. Taking a deep breath, you whispered under your breath, “Ren?”

Your voice trembled, but you were sure that he heard. A moment passed.

“Mhm?” he murmured, turning his head to look at you.

For the first time in a long time, you willed yourself to be open to the force; you wanted him to sense what you wanted. When your eyes met, you knew he did. You were slammed by a wave of loneliness and fear radiating from his mind—you imagined he sensed something quite similar in you.

He could have made this complicated; he could have asked you to say it aloud, or beg for him, or join the First Order first. But he didn’t. He propped his back up on pillows and swept you up, rolling your chest onto his and pulling the covers up over both of you. Underneath them, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You rested your head in the small of his neck; you could hear his heart beat as he started rubbing your back.

“I missed—miss you” you whispered to him. No response came for several seconds, though he continued stroking your back without pause.

“Go to sleep,” he commanded. There was a comforting overtone; he had heard you—he had missed you too, you knew.

There was lots of resolve, but that would come in time. For now, you let your eyes flutter and close, your heart beat calming in time with his.

You woke up in the darkness to his lips pressing against your neck.

“I’ll be back later. Order food when you want it” he said, tossing a small one-button commlink to you.

You felt the bed shift as he stood, then the rustling of clothes behind you.

“Where are you going?” you asked, tired and confused, rubbing your eyes and searching for him in the dark.

“Places,” he responded simply, zipping his pants with a twinge of regret in your direction as you met eyes. You felt yourself blush. “I’ll have lots of time for you later,” he purred. You glared at him as he smirked; he walked towards you, setting a cup of water down along with a single pill. “Birth control,” he said shortly, “if you want it.”

You gaped at him. “If I… want it?”

He shrugged. With a furrowed brow, you sat up. “Are you suggesting you wouldn’t mind a pregnancy?”

He glanced back at you from the doorway. “I’ll be back later,” he repeated flatly. Then he left.

You took the pill.

Standing up to use the refresher, you noted bitterly the soreness between your legs. You turned the shower on, moaning as the hot water hit your flesh. You began to feel clean again, washing away your sins; you’d given up last night. He had won, forced you to admit an inner truth. He knew it. You glanced down, watching as the hot water washed away his cum from your inner thighs. Sighing bitterly, you ran a hand through your hair, working a conditioner he’d left for you through it. You choked back a sob; you were dependent on him. You’d even told him so.

You yanked back the shower curtain violently, stepping out and into a clean towel, wrapping it around yourself as though it could protect you. You gazed into the mirror; there was a bruise on your neck, bruises from where he’d held you down, cracks on your lips. You looked like somebody’s whore. Closing your eyes, you let out an angry scream, cursing yourself for falling so quickly to him. You swept your arm across the counter, knocking everything off, before falling to a slump and sobbing into your hands.

You stayed on the floor for a while, tears dripping off your cheeks and onto the floor as you traced patterns on the tiles. You felt too defeated by yourself to stand; there was nothing for you out there—no weapons, nothing to read, nothing. He was playing games with you, you realized: forcing you to break yourself. Forcing you to accept his food, forcing you to climb into his bed, forcing you to give in to your desire for him.

When your eyes became tired, you lifted yourself and walked over to the hamper. You dressed quickly, pulling on a bra and panties—all that was left for you—and one of his shirts.

After ordering food and gulping it down, you walked over to the bed; staring down at it, eyes full of resentment, you tossed aside the covers at one corner and crawled in. He wins again, you thought, before closing your eyes and drifting into sleep.

You awoke with a start, sensing him before he’d even entered the room. Opening yourself up to the force had reawakened many abilities, though you weren’t sure you wanted them. Bracing yourself, you remained on your side with your back to him as he strode through the door. You heard the latches of his element release with a soft his, and a dull thud as though he’d thrown it aside. More rustling of fabric, and he came into view, peering down at you.

“No words of welcome?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You huffed and rolled over, and he made a low sound in his throat.

“Ah,” he said softly—too softly, you thought. “I see. We’re no longer playing house.” He chuckled, sitting down on the bed. “That’s a shame. I liked it. I think you did too,” he murmured, tracing your spine with a gloved hand.

You flinched. “Don’t touch me!” you seethed, turning to glare at him.

“You wanted me to touch you last night,” he purred, shifting towards you, his words cutting into you.

You cast your eyes away, squaring your jaw. “Not anymore.”

He smirked, grasping the side of your face and forcing you to look at him.

“You’re a liar,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours. You bit his lower lip hard; he pulled back slightly and drew a hand across his face, glancing at the blood. “How passionate,” he breathed, “I didn’t know you were into that.”

You shot daggers at him.  

He sucked on his lower lip and knelt on the bed, swinging one leg over yours and positioning himself above you. Your hand shot out to push him away, but he grabbed it just as fast. “Tsk” he chastised, kissing the back of your hand as he held your wrist hard, reinforcing the bruises already there. He collected your other wrist for good measure, pulling them both above your head and securing them there with one large hand.

“I’ll only allow you to fight me in one way,” he breathed, other hand moving down to the front of his pants.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, eyes going hot.

“And you’re a terrible liar.” With his free hand, he unzipped his pants, leaving the top button in its place—he was making a point. “Beg me,” he whispered into your ear, a mocking tone in his voice.

Your turned your head away, staring across the room, staring at anything but him. “I don’t want you,” you said, blinking back tears of frustration.

“Then why,” he murmured, shifting above you so his free hand trailed between your legs, “Are you so wet for me? I’ve barely touched you.” He said the words before he ran two ungloved fingers between your folds, confirming his suspicions.

You blushed hotly and jerked against his restraint—but he only pressed into you harder. “Mhm?” he asked, dipping his fingers into your entrance slightly to wet them, then beginning to rub your clit. “You know I can take whatever I want,” he breathed, meeting your eyes.

You felt a slight brush of compulsion in your mind. “You’re trying to compel me?” you spat at him, struggling harder to free your wrists as he started rubbing your clit more forcefully, faster. “You think you’re so special. You’re not the only one who can use the force. I can resist you.”

“You’ll do what I want in time,” he breathed. He wasn’t trying to compel you now; he issued the words as a statement, confident in their factualness. You glared up at him, fire in your eyes; his reflected no struggle as he continued rubbing your clit in circles, occasionally dipping a finger into you. “So wet,” he murmured as he pressed his middle and ring fingers into you, slipping them in and out, twisting them inside you. “I wouldn’t judge you if you asked me to fuck you,” he teased.

“I don’t want you,” you said through gritted teeth.

He withdrew his fingers suddenly, and a small groan of loss escaped your lips.

He smirked down at you. “That’s what I thought,” he said, pinching your clit between his fingers, causing you to arch your back up into him. “Tell me again how you don’t want me,” he breathed.

A tear of frustration rolled down your cheek as you pressed your lips together. Suddenly, his touch was gone; he released your wrists, sitting back on his heels, straddling your thighs.

“Undo this button,” he purred with the edge of an order in his voice, tapping the button above the zipper of his pants with his forefinger. “You want a fight?” he purred suggestively, “Here’s your chance. Winner takes all.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out who the winner would be. You were conflicted; you didn’t think he would force you to have sex, but you were certain he’d cast you aside if you refused, leaving you hopelessly frustrated the rest of the night. He was going to win either way, you knew. At least you could also take something from him in one of your options. You reached out, fingers fumbling with the button. You undid it, pulling your hands back to your sides as though you’d rather have forgotten.

He chuckled and climbed off you and off the bed, starting to strip off his layers. “Clothes off,” he prompted you, watching you hungrily as you pulled your shirt over your head. He pulled his pants and boxers down as you stripped your bra off, clutching at the covers to cover yourself. He grasped them and ripped them back. “Don’t do that,” he chastised, nodding his head towards your panties. “Those too. Hand them to me.”

You forced yourself to swallow, grasping your panties on both sides and pulling them down and off, holding them out to him. He accepted them, a symbol of your first defeat, bringing them to his nose and breathing in. Then he smiled at you, satisfied, tossing them aside and crawling onto the bed—you crawled away an equal amount. He smirked. “We don’t have to fight each other for this. You could just lay down here,” he patted the stretch of bed in front of him, “and accept me. I know you’re already ready,” he finished, eyes lingering on your wet thighs.

“I’m not submissive,” you said hotly.

“Of course you are,” he countered, a softness in his voice. “But I can prove it to you if you need me to.”

And with that he lunged at you, grabbing at a forearm. You jerked away, stumbling off the other end of the bed. He pursued, climbing off the bed slowly as you backed away quickly. He was taking his time, measured; he seemed to enjoy your franticness in escaping him, like a predator stalking his prey—he just hadn’t gone in for the kill yet. You swallowed again hard, breathing heavily as he took a step forward and you a step back.

“Where are you going to run, sweetheart?” he asked, considering you. There was nothing frightening in his face; no apparent anger or hatred, nothing but a mixture of amusement and attraction. You cursed him as you stepped behind a chair; he had grown taller since you were last together, shoulders broader and more defined. He wasn’t chiseled, but you were sure he worked out—there were muscles there, you were confident. His face was the same as the one you’d loved, only older; the same strong jaw and brooding eyes. He held out a hand as you looked him over, using the other to stroke himself firmly. “Come here,” he said, voice soft and gentle again, beckoning you to him. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum already.

But you shook your head, grasping the back of the chair between you. His lips twitched for a moment, and he lunged at you again, sending you running around the side of the chair. You backed away again, catching your breath; you had simply traded places. There was no positional advantage to be had in this room—it was all just wide-open space and corners. He lunged again suddenly, and you sprinted to the bed, trying to leap away from his grasp when you felt his fingers close around one of your upper arms. Cursing, he pressed his chest into your back, forcing you down across the bed. You struggled hard, but he was stronger. Your heart raced as you felt him crane his neck to look down between you, his hands grabbing your ass and forcing your cheeks apart.

“No,” you choked out the words as you felt the head of his cock press hard between your cheeks, “don’t.”

He paused behind you, still holding you down hard. “I told you ‘winner takes all’,” he murmured, still pressing himself into your ass.

“Please. Please don’t.” you choked out breathlessly.

He pulled himself back, moving to growl a whisper in your ear. “Then you better spread your legs for me.” You obeyed quickly, spreading your legs apart as you felt him position himself between your thighs. Not bothering to pull you up against him, he forced himself into your usual entrance, groaning at the tight fit the position gave him. “Fuck” he cursed as he sank deeper into you, your juices the only thing keeping this from being painful. You felt your walls being forced to part for his cock, which he pulled back and shoved into you again, holding your wrists behind your back. He groaned and grunted as he started fucking you in earnest, animal sounds escaping his lips as he pleasured himself with your body.

Finally, he pulled out and sat up, catching his breath and pulling you up to your hands and knees, grasping his cock and pressing it back into you. He took hold of your waist, pulling you back into his thrusts—this time, his strokes fulfilling both of you. You moaned against your will as he hit bottom, burying himself in you to the hilt, pausing to kiss your neck. “I know you like it like this,” he groaned into your ear, rubbing your clit as he started pounding into you from behind. Pleasure bubbled up inside you, the combination forcing you to orgasm. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades, forcing you down into the bed, as he grabbed your hips firmly; a second later he resumed, pounding you harder, stroking in the short aggressive thrusts he enjoyed the most.

“Where do you want me to cum,” he asked breathlessly, his voice hitching on the last syllable.

“Inside me,” you breathed honestly, too tired from your own orgasm to lie.

He grunted as he thrust up into you at the words, and you felt his cock pulsing as he ejaculated. You could feel him straining behind you as he came, then to hold himself up as he caught his breath. He reached under you, playing with your breasts and pulling you up so your back rested against his chest.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

He laughed. “Don’t lie,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck. “You love being with me.”

Something caught in your throat. It had occurred to you: love was a weapon against a dark lord.

“I love you,” you correctly softly, hesitantly. “And you love me, too.”

He went still for a few moments, then withdrew from you. Storming over to the refresher, he tossed a clean towel at you, and closed the door without a word.

You stared blankly at the ceiling, listening to him shower. You wondered what he was thinking about—without direct eye contact, it would be too difficult to tell with the force. You sighed, closing your eyes. You must have drifted off, as you soon felt the bed shift as he climbed in with you.

“You’re confusing love with what it feels like to submit,” he purred, a slightly abrasive edge in his voice. “Because it feels good, doesn’t it?”

You hesitated, remaining quiet for a few moments. “Yes,” you whispered, honest and afraid. His arms wrapped around you; you were confident he was surprised at your admission. But it was true; you liked his dominance sometimes: taking what he wanted from you, giving you what you needed. You felt protectiveness radiating off him, and you could sense it there within in: there was love for you, unmistakable even surrounded by the darkness in him. “But I’m not confused,” you breathed.

This was the key to turning him, you realized. If he wanted your submission, you’d have to give it to him; his desire to dominate came with that protectiveness—that had to be based in love, at least a little bit.

You would win.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See also "Closet Land" for a related hella-good (also hella disturbing) film, featuring the OG sexiest actor, Alan Rickman (but he dead now so Adam is it).

He was distant the rest of the night. You took another birth control pill and showered, then climbed back into bed where you slept on opposite sides of the bed; there was no comforting you tonight.

But when you awoke, you weren’t in bed at all. You felt cool metal all around you—metal claps holding your wrists and ankles in place. You blinked, trying to rid yourself of the haze all around you as you became aware of voices around you.

The clang of metal footsteps came closer, and you heard cold female voice speak through a vocoder. “And who is this?”, the voice murmured.

“Ren’s little sex toy,” an unfamiliar male voice chimed in shrilly.

Anger coursed through you, pounding through the headache you already had. Focusing all your energy in the direction of the second voice, you slammed the speaker backwards with all your might—which was, in this state, not much. As your vision cleared, the man came into focus: General Hux, who was clambering up from the ground, still conscious and very much annoyed.

You glanced down: you had been brought here in just a shirt and panties—what you’d worn to bed. You scowled.

“Ren’s little _force-sensitive_ sex toy,” Ren corrected him, coming into your view and peering down at you. He was in full garb. “Play nice,” he chided annoyingly, patting your head as if you were an insolent child. You sneered up at him, and you were confident he smiled behind his mask.

Your eyes flickered back to the other presence in the room—Captain Phasma, the female voice. You steeled your jaw: being here with the First Order triumvirate could not be good.

“How dare you—” you started, before Ren waved a single hand in front of your face. Your will to speak was strong, but his will that you not speak was stronger.

“I want you to tell me about the Resistance base,” he said, sitting down on a stool in front of you. You felt the force preventing you from speaking fade away as he said the words.

“And I want you to fuck off and die!” you hissed, lunging forward as much as you could in your restraints.

A low chuckle came from his mask. “Cute,” he breathed, standing up and moving out of view, gesturing Phasma and Hux with him. “You don’t want to be within her range.”

“Fuck you,” you spat viciously, struggling hard against your restraints.

“Soon, darling,” Ren countered casually, amusement in his voice.

You heard rustling behind you, and you craned your neck to see what they were doing—but he stopped you with the force, making you face front again. You willed your restraints to drop away, but they didn’t—he had expected this; he was countering you.

You were breathing hard when he came back into view, sitting down in front of you once again.

“Open up,” he prompted, holding something out in his hand, obscuring it with his gloved fingers.

You stared obstinately at the masked creature in front of you. This was intentional, you realized; he was trying to humanize himself when with you, and dehumanize himself here. He was trying to create two Kylo Rens, one whom he knew you would hate, and one whom he hoped you would trust. But you knew they were the same.

You had just finished this thought when he forced his fingers into your mouth, seemingly sensing you were preoccupied. You gagged as he forced something down your throat, withdrawing fast enough that you wouldn’t gag the object up.

“How DARE you—“ you sputtered again, but this time it wasn’t the wave of a hand that stopped you short—this time you felt a creeping warm sensation radiating from your belly, seeping up into your shoulders and making you relax.

It was a sedative, you realized. A powerful one.

He was still for a few moments, letting it take effect. He spoke again when you went slack against your restraints.

“Tell me about the resistance base.”

It was a question—there was no compulsion in his voice nor in the medicine, but the forced relaxation made your mind more pliable.

“It’s mostly underground,” you breathed, fighting hard against the effects of the drug to give only information he would already know.

You could sense a smirk behind his mask, then a light brush in your mind.

“Tell me more,” he whispered.

If you weren’t under the influence, your stomach would have turned.

“I don’t know, I haven’t been there in years,” you managed to say with much effort. It was the truth, though you doubted the resistance had changed positions since then—they hadn’t needed to.

“Just tell me what you know,” he said. “Eyes on me,” he prompted when you tried to look away, head lulling back.

It felt too intimate. You shut them instead. “You can break my body but you cannot break my mind,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone.

A low chuckle emerged from his mask again, though it fell away from your hearing as you willed yourself to mediate. “You can break my body but you cannot break my mind. You can break my body but you cannot break my mind. You can break my body but you cannot break my mind,” you whispered desperately, keeping your eyes shut tight, your mantra becoming like a prayer.

“Please and obey” a low voice whispered in your mind, gently coaxing you—his voice, his real voice, you realized as it washed over you in a comforting wave.

“You can break my body but you cannot break my mind,” you said louder, trying to suffocate the voice in your head. It too grew louder, repeating itself. _Please and obey._

“You can break my body but you cannot break my mind,” you screamed as his voice in your head began to dominate your thoughts, overpowering your own resistance. Images of the jungle surrounding the base flashed in your mind; C3P0 was being repaired; General Organa was crying; images of the fleets flashed by—and then it was there, all at once. The name of the planet swam to the forefront of your mind, as if dragged up by something deeper. D’Qar.

You felt Ren’s influence leave your mind abruptly. He had what he wanted.

“The Ileenium system,” he told the others.

“Ready the troops at once,” Hux told Phasma, both hurrying back into view and towards the door. While Phasma left, Hux hung behind.

“Coming, Ren?” he asked, the annoyance in his voice striking.                                                                                        

He shook his head. “She can’t be left alone in this state,” he replied, standing to fetch something as your restraints opened. There was no point in running, you knew: Hux would love an excuse to kill you, you were sure of it. Ren returned to your peripheral a moment later, tugging you up and supporting you in standing as a warm blanket was wrapped around you. Then he dipped down to hook one arm under your knees, picking you up and carrying you out of the room with him.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw bad writing and everybody being an asshole
> 
> basically this fic summarized tho

The dark metal halls swam before your eyes as tears streaked down your cheeks. Ren ignored you as you balled your fists in the material on his chest. You cursed the warmth you felt when you started to cry while he carried you; you wanted such a vile creature to be cold. But he was human: the warmth radiating from his clothes and his grasp proved it.

“Shall I take the prisoner, sir?” you heard a voice say suddenly.

You looked up; you had been taken to a hangar.

“No,” he replied sharply, “I’ve got her. Prepare for take-off.”

You looked around when he issued the order—then you saw it. There: his command shuttle.

You struggled feebly in his grasp. “I thought we were going to your rooms. Or the bridge,” you murmured, voice trailing off.

“Did you want to watch?” he asked, a cruel undertone in his voice.

You said nothing in response as he carried you up the boarding ramp and into the shuttle. You blasted off into space in similar silence. You didn’t know where you were going, nor you had no desire to know, as it would involve talking to the monster that was still clutching you.

After the small ship had safely departed and the right trajectory was confirmed, he stood and carried you down a flight of shallow steps, punching in a code that sent a door flying aside. It revealed a small bedroom, the sweeping bed and its dark sheets flanked by two nightstands, with a door on one side leading off to a small refresher. In front of the bed was a panoramic view of space, stars sweeping by as the ship travelled.

“It’ll take a night of travel,” he said simply, setting you down on the bed with surprising gentleness.  He took off and set him helmet down just the same, walking over to the window and gazing out for a while.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” you said through bared teeth.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I won’t sleep at all then.”

“Suit yourself. Be tired. It’ll weaken you even more for me.”

His words stung. You were used to being equally as powerful; the ease with which he had pried information from you was embarrassing.

“Speaking of growing weak,” he said, turning and eyeing your body, “you must be hungry.” He pressed a few buttons on his commlink, and came to sit at the end of the bed. “I want you to eat without objection, understand?”

You shot him a look, rolling onto your side and curling up with a pillow. “I’m not your slave.”

He chuckled. “We’ll see,” he said calmly, one ungloved hand trailing up your leg.

You kicked him, but he caught your foot just as fast.

“No, no,” he chastised, slapping your ass lightly with his other hand. “You play nice with me, if you want me to play nice with you.”

“You call this ‘playing nice’?” you shouted, sitting up in the bed and pushing his hands away. “You call shoving a pill down my throat and force-interrogating me until I give you information so you can murder people ‘nice’?”

He dropped his gaze for a moment, almost as if there was a slight twinge of regret after all. He stood in response to a knock at the door.

“I’m feeding you. Clothing you. Giving you a chance to share in all of this,” he gestured around. “Millions would kill to trade places with you. You’re ungrateful,” he finished bitterly.

“I’m just a fucking sex slave in your sick little quest for power,” you shouted at him as he took a plate of food from the guard outside, who blanched immediately at whatever expression had crossed Ren’s face.

“Then eat up,” he said darkly, slamming the door and setting the plate down next to you. “Sex slaves need their energy.”

You blanched too at the look at anger on his face, relieved when he stormed away to refresher. You looked down: a meat and vegetable stew, sour bread, chee-chee berries. Food you liked, he well knew. In any other scenario, it would’ve almost been a sweet gesture.

The thought of going on hunger strike crossed your mind for an instant, but you ruled it out as fast and it had come; you were already too weakened by the interrogation to defend yourself much, or even think clearly at all. You dug it, eating greedily, savoring the flavor and warmth of the stew and the sweetness of the berries.

He emerged a moment later, sitting down on the other end of the bed, observing you eat. You forced yourself to swallow as you felt his gaze fall on you. _There’s only one thing that distinguishes you from him_ , you thought. Swallowing too your pride, you licked your lips tentatively. “Are you hungry?”

“What?” he said, knocked off his game for a moment by your gesture. “I already ate,” he answered, studying your face.

“Okay.”

You felt a weird pang of jealousy that he ate without you, though you’d known he must have beforehand. You’d just never thought about it before. You wondered if he shared meals with other people…

“Don’t worry,” he cut across your train of thought, “I eat alone.”

“Get out of my head!” you shouted, throwing up a mental wall to block him. “Honestly, can I have no privacy?”

“None,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his features.

You huffed, spooning the last of the stew into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly as you cleaned your plate—despite the look of hatred that you shot him. He laid down, curling one finger, beckoning you over. “Come here.”

You hesitated. If you didn’t go to him, you were sure he would retrieve you himself. You sat gingerly on your side of the bed instead.

“Here,” he warned, pointing next to him.

You swallowed and scooted over, crossing your arms and staring forward stubbornly. One of his hands grasped a thigh.

“So about being my sex slave…”

“Absolutely not,” you shot at him, struggling to move away as he tugged you back. He pulled you down to lay against him, taking hold of your hip and pressing your back to his chest, his clothed erection rubbing against your ass.

“I have needs,” he purred.

“Meet them yourself,” you spat, elbowing him hard.

“Okay,” he said simply, before grabbing your elbow and flipping you over onto your stomach. He held you down as you struggled, panicking that he was going to force himself on you.

“Don’t. Please don’t. Please—“

“Calm down, I’m not going to fuck your holes,” he said, as though incredibly annoyed you had misinterpreted. You stopped fighting; you could sense he was telling the truth. “I just want some visual help,” he purred, pulling your panties down to your upper thighs, where he straddled you. “Is that okay?” he asked dryly, unzipping his pants. You could feel his gaze drop to your bare ass.

You paused; so did he. “I—I guess. Yes.”

You heard the rustling of clothes when you gave him permission, and a small groan as he began touching himself. You clutched a pillow, burying your face in it, willing yourself to think about anything but the fact that a leader of the First Order was masturbating to you.

You felt one hand snake from your waist down to the curve of your hip. It grabbed one of your cheeks, then slapped across your ass lightly.

“Don’t do that,” you objected, glancing back at him.

“Okay.” He paused again. “I need wetness, or I’m going to chafe.” There was a question in his voice.

You shook your head. “Not my problem.”

There was a small, frustrated sigh, then the sound of him spitting into his hand. A moment later, the jerking motions that rocked your body forward resumed, his other hand caressing your ass. The sound of his hand slapping against the flesh of his stomach echoed through the room as he started stroking himself faster. Then he stopped.

“Just a look,” he assured you as you felt his thumbs spread your labia open for a moment. He let out a groan of desire and the stroking motions resumed, harder and more desperate this time. His hand travelled back over your ass as he bucked his hips into his own grasp, then pulled your shirt up to reveal your lower back. His breath hitched as his thrusting slowed, and you felt hot strips of cum land on your lower back.

He grunted, climbing off you and into the refresher.

“You’re cleaning this up!” you yelled after him.

He emerged with a smirk and a hand towel, which he swiped across your lower back.

“Thanks,” he purred, planting a kiss between your shoulder blades, before snaking an arm under your hips and lifting you up.

“Hey—“

“Shhh.”

He carried you into the refresher, ignoring your scowl.

“I don’t want to shower with you.”

“I don’t care what you want,” he replied brusquely, running the water until he liked the temperature. Hooking both thumbs in your panties, he pulled them the rest of the way down. When it became clear you weren’t going to help, he pulled your shirt above your head and tossed it aside, too, before setting to work on his own clothes. Picking you up and setting you in the shower he asked, “Do you want me to wash you, too?”

You flinched and shot him another glare. “You’re a killer. I never want you touching me again.”

The edge of his mouth twitched. “We’ll see,” he said confidently, lathering his hair and handing you the bottle. You bathed yourself, willing him to look away as you washed all the soap off your body, and conditioner out of your hair. You traded places, with him getting the water now; you folded your arms and huffed, waiting for him to finish. He turned around with a smirk, catching hold of your waist pulling you into him. You struggled against his grip as the water cascaded down your bodies, which were now pressing against each other. You dug your nails into his back and were rewarded with an annoyed hiss, but he didn’t release you; instead he waited until you gave up in his arms, accepting the feeling of his skin of yours. He stroked your hair, and bile rose in your throat; you started gagging, and he let go of you as you turned away to vomit.

He jumped out of the shower, taking hold of your upper arms and forcing you back under the water. He rinsed you off and pulled you angrily out of the shower, only half wrapping a towel around you before throwing you on the bed.

“Your friends are dead.”

Tears formed in your eyes as he yelled.

“They’re not here anymore. They can’t comfort you. Only I’m here,” he growled. “And I suggest you embrace it.”

You choked on your sobs, bringing your knees to your chest and shutting your eyes, hard. You cried yourself to sleep like that as he stared out impassively into the galaxy.

You were woken up gruffly by one of the henchmen on the shuttle. He pulled you out of bed naked, shoving a change of clothes into your hands. “Dress yourself,” he ordered.

Your eyes, still adjusting to the light, searched for Ren.

“Where’s –“

“Commander Ren is busy.”

Your throat ran dry. _Was the shuttle attacked? What was wrong?_ You pulled on the scratchy grey tunic dress that was offered—First Order female prisoner garb, you noted with great annoyance. The guard pulled you up the stairs, where you were met with surprising peace. Noticing Ren sitting quietly in the commander’s chair, your heart caught in your throat; he had ordered this, you realized.

“Commander, sir, we’ll be docking momentary.”

He gave a stiff nod. A huge ship had come into view—another First Order dreadnought. Ren stood, crossing the threshold to the departure door, as the shuttle began to fly through the ship’s entryways.

The guard forced you to your knees as Kylo Ren passed. You stared at him, mouth agape, heart pounding in your chest.

He gave a single backwards glance. “You wanted to be a prisoner,” he said through his vocoder, voice cold.

You were yanked to your feet and forced to walk as the crew departed; Ren left first and was soon flanked by a detail of Stormtroopers as he set foot on the Dreadnought. More than ever, his words from before stung; _Millions would kill to trade places with you_. He was one of the leaders of the biggest galactic organization; you were no one. If you wanted to be anonymous, he could make you anonymous. Forget about you. You’d become another nameless First Order prisoner soon enough.

You stifled a scream as you were led off the ship, watching him storm away, singularly important to the surrounding crew. You were led roughly by two Stormtroopers to a cell; there were no bars, no windows, nothing. Just a heavy metal door with a small unidirectional flap at the bottom—for food, you realized with a jolt. There was nothing in the room but a dim light from overhead, and a small rickety cot.

They were smart, you thought. This room was constructed for force-sensitive prisoners. There would be no compelling guards to release you from within this room. As soon as they had led you there, the troopers pushed you forward into the room, slamming and locking the door. You heard their metal footsteps clink away as you slid down to the floor in despair.

He could forget about you here; maybe this is where you died. You looked around, touching the dirty floors with your hands, then looking at your palms. Filthy. This is where people were thrown to be forgotten about, you were sure of it. Maybe you were wrong about his protective streak; maybe there was no light left in him at all.

Your rational side begged you to sit and meditate, but you began pacing around the room instead. With a single outstretched finger, you traced the walls of the room repeatedly as you went, stepping around the cot with each revolution. You slowly lost track of the number of times you had walked the perimeter of the room—until a tray of food was shoved under the door.

It was no standard prisoner food, you were sure of it. Grilled and seasoned cuckoo hen rested on a bed of greens on the disposable plate. Alongside it, steamed vegetables, a shuura, and a carton of milk. High in protein and fibers, low on carbs, just enough sugar. You scowled. He was serving you a trainee diet. No utensils: no makeshift weapons. Still, you were thankful for the tray; Ren still had a hand in what was happening to you. This proved it.

You ate everything, the glimmer of hope that you would not die here uplifting. After, you squatted down and kicked your feet out behind you to do push-ups. You lost track of how many you did quickly, quieting your mind and focusing just on doing the task at hand. When you finally collapsed, you rolled onto your knees and pushed yourself up, laying down on the cot for sleep. Though exceedingly uncomfortable, sleep came for you quickly anyways; you were too tired from the physical and emotional exertion of the day to keep your eyes open.

Lunch was soon served through the flap, which closed with a loud clang and woke you up. The meal was similar; meat, vegetables, a piece of fruit, and the addition of some carbohydrates. This time, water, instead of milk; bagged water, you noted with annoyance, and a lot of it. You never liked the idea of storing drinks in bags…

Again, you were equal parts annoyed and relieved by the gesture; annoyed that you were kept like a pet and toyed with, and relieved he was ordering your meals. He wanted you hydrated and fed well. Death appeared not to be imminent.

As the minutes ticked by and the exercises you occupied yourself exhausted your diminished muscles, you realized that perhaps an imminent death would have been merciful. Loneliness crept into and consumed you as you ran out of exercises to try; your mind still too worried to meditate. Desperate to sleep, you pictured a vast ocean. An island. Soft winds or crashing waves—anything to get away from _here_.

Soon your days were spent waiting for food, alternating between sleep and exercise between meals. You marked off the number of meals in dirt in one corner—13 tick marks were there now: you had been here almost five miserable days. You started to call out to the guards who brought you meals around the third day, though they never talked back; food simply slid through the flap at the bottom of the door, and footsteps faded away into silence. You had recycled every happy moment you could remember from your life, desperately playing them back in your mind just to pretend that you weren’t alone. At first, you avoided the memories with _him_ , but soon they too were used as fuel to survive the loneliness; how you had played as children, how you drove each other crazy as teenagers, how you’d bonded as young adults, and even recently—how he’d touched you and taken possession of you.

You were desperate for anyone, anything, to remind you that you were human. Not alone. When food came that night, you begged the guard to stay as you’d been doing for days now. This time, however, you heard no retreating footsteps.

“Please stay,” you breathed, falling to your hands and knees to retrieve the tray and perhaps peek under the door, hope bubbling up in your chest. “Please,” you whimpered, recoiling hesitantly, repulsed by the desperation in your own voice. “Please stay. Please talk to me.”

Silence.

“Please.”

Then you heard a key in the door, and a wave of awareness hit you suddenly: it was him.


	7. 7

Your extreme loneliness had crippled your ability to sense him. He stepped into the dimly lit cell and closed the door behind him, his cowl robe rippling slightly about his feet.

 You looked up at him pleadingly.

“Take the mask off. Please,” you whispered.

He paused, then brought his hands up to either side of his helmet, pressing the latches and pulling it off to reveal his face. There was a hint of pity etched across his features as he gazed down at you.

“Stay,” you mumbled, “Eat with me. Stay. Please,” you begged, once again embarrassed at your own desperation.

“No, I—“ he started.

“Please,” you cut him off, voice hitching and tears forming in your eyes. “I can’t be alone anymore. Please.”

He had stopped trying to speak to you, and instead dipped his arms under yours and pulled you too your feet, where he stooped to dip his other arm under your knees. He carried you out of the room and tilted his head towards the tray of food and his helmet. “Grab that,” he ordered the two troopers that had accompanied him, and set off carrying you down the corridor.

He weaved his way through the Dreadnought, walking down winding hallways and through security locks, then up many levels in the elevator. Flanked by his guards, he stopped in front of an inconspicuous door, unlocking it to reveal a short hallway with another such door. He punched the code into the new keypad—obscuring it with his back—and the door slid open to reveal his personal quarters. He walked through a living room into his bedroom and gestured for the troopers to leave the food on a night stand next to the bed, where he set you down.

“Leave,” he ordered them, turning back to you once they had gone.

You had already laid back on the bed, cherishing the comfortable piece of furniture. You stretched out and felt the foam of the bed support your aching back, letting out a small sigh of contentment. He stepped over you, and you pushed yourself up on the bed to meet his eyes.

“Eat,” he ordered, bringing the tray to you and setting it on your lap.

He sat down next to you, hands on his knees as he watched you to make sure you finished.

“Go take a shower,” he said, a gentleness in his voice as you noticed the built-up dirt and grime on your hands. You didn’t need to be told twice, hurrying to the refresher and running a hot shower. The water felt amazing on your sensitive skin, and you scrubbed the layers of dirt from the cell off as though they couldn’t be gone fast enough. Taking special care to condition your hair, you stepped out and wrapped yourself in towels, walking back into the bedroom gingerly. 

He had stripped down into pants made of a light material—like pajama pants, though you’d never seen him wear any. He sat up on the bed when you entered the room, and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he said, and you obeyed, standing in front of him. “Eyes on me,” he ordered quietly, a note of reassurance in his voice, as he pulled the towel around you down, letting it fall to the floor. You flushed as you felt his eyes on your body, and looked away. “On me,” he repeated softly, running one hand across your belly and up an arm. “You look stronger,” he murmured, squeezing an arm gently. “Maybe I should send you to solitary more often.”

You flinched. He immediately looked apologetic, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you onto his lap. Still naked, you went to cover yourself—but he batted your hands away lightly.

“Don’t be shy,” he said, “you’re beautiful.”

“I’m cold,” you lied.

“Lying already?” he made a light noise of disapproval. “That won’t do,” he said, laying you out on the bed. His eyes traveled across your body, and a distinct look of hunger crossed his face.

You forced yourself to swallow. Make sure you can stay here tonight, you thought.

“Do you want to…” your voice trailed off, and his mouth twitched. He seemed to be making up his mind for several moments before pulling away.

“You’re in no condition to be fucked,” he said in a tone that made you pretty sure he was half-trying to convince himself. He hesitated for a moment, then peeled back a corner of the dark covers. He gestured that you should get under them, and you obeyed. He headed towards the refresher and returned a minute later, pills in one hand and a glass of water in another. “Vitamins,” he said, “and birth control. You’ll take one every day.”

“I thought I had a choice,” you said, brow furrowing slightly.

He shifted and sighed heavily, setting his jaw. “Do you want to get pregnant? I’m happy to cum in your pussy right now if that’s what you want,” he said, his annoyance flaring from him like flames.

You shook your head and took the pills quickly, leaning back against the headboard.

“Why do you go out of your way to be impossible,” he sighed, setting the cup down and sitting on the bed. You stared straight ahead, then your eyes flicked to him. He spoke to you so authoritatively, but he was only a year older; behind his mask, it was easy to forget how young he was. How young you both were.

You sighed, dropping your gaze to your hands as he regarded you. You felt the light brush of his mind probing yours, and in turn you sensed his feelings; there was a small sentimental streak in him yet.

“So lonely,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

“Can’t you just pretend you’re normal,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, just barely a whisper. “You know, not a leader in the First Order. Can’t we just pretend we’re normal again,” you breathed, meeting those familiar eyes—familiar eyes that somehow, counter to everything you wanted to believe, belonged to one of the most powerful men in the galaxy.

He sucked on a corner of his lower lip. “We can play make-believe all you want.”

You sighed, defeated, sinking down onto your back. He considered you from above—this was becoming an annoying theme—and watched you bury your head in your hands. “I’m tired,” you said bitterly, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“Get some sleep then,” he murmured, turning out the lights and settling into bed next to you.

You closed your eyes, grateful that you felt yourself slipping into sleep so quickly.

You woke to something warm hitting the side of your face.

You squirmed slightly, still drowsy, and were settling in to go back to sleep when you felt it hit you again. You opened your eyes, struggling to see in the dark clearly in the dark. Your hands flew up to your face, where you found Ren’s knees on either side of you. He was slapping you with his cock, you realized. “What the fuck are you doing,” you yelled, turning your head to the side.

He issued a low, playful chuckle, and slapped his cock against the side of your face again.

“Open up, little girl. Daddy wants to play,” he murmured seductively. You could hear the amusement dripping from his voice as he teased you.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but—“

Just then, you felt the head of his cock part your lips. He pressed down into your mouth, which you opened to avoid grazing him with your teeth.

“Mhm, good girl,” he said as you protested, which sounded like nothing but humming against his cock. “Please feel free to continue objecting, it feels good,” he moaned, crawling down the length of your body. Two strong hands moved between your inner thighs, parting them. As you gasped, you felt his tongue brush against your clit. You arched up into him, his cock sliding into your throat. You gagged, and he pulled his hips up to relieve you.

“Seal your lips around me,” he instructed, breathing more heavily. You did as you were told, and he pressed back down into your mouth, pulling back up, pressing back down. You moaned around his cock as he forced you to lave his shaft with your tongue. “Fuck,” he hissed at the sensation, continuing to slowly work himself in and out of your mouth as he turned his attention back to your clit. Sealing his mouth around it, he sucked hard, tongue drawing out the letters the name he assumed. You ran your hands up his legs as he bore down into your mouth, tapping lightly on his thigh when you needed a breath. He shifted, reaching under your hips to hook a finger inside you, drawing your cunt up to his mouth. He moaned when you moaned, finger-fucking you faster as his mouth clamped down on your clit. He slipped another finger into you before withdrawing and rubbing your wetness against your asshole, which puckered at his touch.

You groaned words at him, but they were muffled by his cock. “Relax,” he breathed, licking and sucking your clit hard as he pressed a finger into your ass. You couldn’t feel much more, too distracted by the cock in your mouth and the overstimulation of your clit. “Good,” he breathed against your clit, moving his finger slowly in and out of you. He pressed two fingers into your usual entrance, thrusting them in and out as his ministrations picked up. Your breath hitched, hips pushing up against his face. He thrust all three fingers in and out of you faster, keeping a steady rhythm of stimulation on your clit. You moaned loudly as you came, the walls of your pussy gripping his fingers hard as your orgasm pulsed through you.

He pulled his fingers out of you after a moment and gripped your hips, pressing down into your mouth. He thrust fast and hard between your lips, your tongue stimulating the shaft and ridge of his cock as used you to jerk himself off. He craned his neck to peer down, grunting as he watched himself fucking your mouth, and groaned his release a minute later. “Swallow,” he said, straining into your mouth hard as you felt his warm cum erupt into it. You swallowed multiple times, still gagged by his cock, making sure he wouldn’t punish you for missing any.

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly, rubbing your cheek as he pulled out of your mouth.

“What the fuck,” you breathed. “Waking me up like that, and shoving fingers up my ass!”

He smirked, reclining into the pillows, spent. “We had to start anal training at some point.”

“No, we absolutely did not!” you exclaimed, hitting him with a pillow. He caught it and tossed it aside, pulling you down onto him.

“Yes,” he said deliberately, holding his gaze, “we did, because it’s something I want, and we’re going to do what I want.”

“What if I don’t want to?” you hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “You will. It pleasures the woman too, when done right.” He stretched out and rolled you onto your side, pressing up against you to spoon. “Have I ever made you do anything you didn’t like?”

“Yes!” you insisted.

“Sexually?” he clarified, finger drawing a pattern on your arm as he caressed you.

You paused and let out a bitter huff.

He smirked. “I didn’t think so. How did it feel, having something in every hole?” He was teasing you, one finger twirling your hair. You elbowed him, and he laughed—a rich, warm laugh. _His_ laugh. You rolled to face him, reaching out to touch his cheek. He leaned down and kissed you, one hand under your chin, pulling you to him. You felt an arm snake around your waist as he refused to break the kiss. When you finally did break apart, his other hand found the back of your head and gently guided it to rest against his shoulder.

Your forced yourself to swallow, taking a deep breath; you had to take this chance. This was _him_. _Do what it takes_.

“Please,” you said after resting against him for a moment, your voice barely a whisper. You looked up at him, eyes pleading. “Please,” you repeated. “It’s not too late. I promise it’s not. I miss you. Please,” you whispered, monitoring his reaction closely.

He just stared down at you—but you swore you saw a flicker of emotion flash in his eyes. “Tell me what I need to do,” you whispered, brushing his lips. “Please.” You weren’t above begging, not now. He liked being begged for; you prayed he would at least hear you. “Ben,” you murmured, stroking his cheek.

He held your gaze for a moment, then leaned down and covered your mouth with his. “Shh,” he murmured, his tongue claiming your mouth when your lips met. You didn’t protest; you let him draw you into the kiss, lead you, felt him caress the small of your back. “I’m here,” he murmured, kissing your forehead; you were sure he was being intentionally ambiguous. “And you’re mine,” he emphasized the last word, moving to suck on your neck hard—there would be a mark in the morning.

In that moment, you weren’t sure if he was pretending or if he was genuine; you weren’t sure you cared. You wanted to be held, and he wanted to hold you. You clung to him as he wrapped his other arm around you, bare skin on bare skin. You ran your hand across his back and met his eyes. “Don’t leave tomorrow,” you asked quietly. He looked away in thought, sucking on his lower lip again.

“I think I have to.”

“Why?”

“I have an audience with Snoke, I think.”

The words were like ice water on your body. You tensed and pulled away from him. He blinked. “Relax, it’s me,” he said, hand tangling itself in your hair.

You flinched and swallowed hard. “That _thing_ is a monster.”

He sighed, closing his eyes as if to suppress anger. “Agree to disagree,” he shrugged a moment later, the back of his hand running down the length of your arm; you were shocked he was still in a gentle mood.

He was because he wanted to be, you realized.

“Okay,” you murmured compliantly, not wanting the snuggles to end. He paused, seemingly perplexed you weren’t going to argue. Then the touching picked up again, his hands kneading your shoulders and down your back. You pulled back just enough to admire his body, running your hands down the front of his chest. You stopped at his sternum; he’d broken it once in a training accident, but it seemed to have healed well. He looked good—healthy and strong.

“Like what you see?” he asked playfully. You smiled at him, laying your head on his chest again.

“Mhm hm.”

“Me too,” he said, kissing the top of your head and closing his eyes.

Your breathing slowly went shallow together as you drifted to sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: minor body issues

For once, you woke up before him. You yawned, stretching out in bed. He was laying on his side, breathing softly next to you; eyes closed, fast asleep, he looked so peaceful. There were no hard lines etched on his face now, no mirth, no worry. He resembled his younger self in this state. Your heart broke a little as you looked around the room—still the dark, cold surroundings of a Dreadnought.

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, rubbing his back gently as he stirred.

“Can I get you something to eat?” you offered.

He blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes. He rolled onto his back. “I’ll get us food.”

You didn’t challenge it; he wanted to be the one to provide. He sat up and stood, walking over to a grab a datapad, which he seemed to be using to select options for breakfast. You stretched again, pulling the covers up quickly when your nipples threatened to peek out. He looked up and smirked, taking hold of one corner of the comforter and peeling it off you.

You glared at him indignantly, and he smiled. “Why are you shy all of a sudden? You used to walk around naked all the time.” He set the datapad aside, sitting back down on the bed and pulling you to him. “And I liked it,” he growled into your ear, biting a lobe gently. You felt him getting hard against your thigh as his eyes surveyed your body; leaning into him, you nuzzled his neck, grazing it with your teeth. He leaned down and kissed you, then pulled away, walking over to a dresser from which he took boxers. You complained as he stepped into them, pulling them up to his hips.

“Why would you do that?” you protested; an ache had formed between your legs.

“I don’t want to have to shower before working,” he explained, pulling on an undershirt. “And,” he added, looking very full of himself, “I want you needing me when I get home.”

 _Home_.

You glanced at his erection knowingly.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. You huffed, getting up from the bed and walking over to the dresser. Sliding a drawer open, you searched for clothes. The ghost of another smirk formed on his lips as he continued to dress himself. You opened more drawers; all his.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you said, glaring up at him.

He smiled. “Forgot to order clothes. But I think you should try going naked. Or wearing mine,” he finished, gesturing to a row of neatly folded shirts.

That, at least, was acceptable; you used to wear his shirts all the time. You grabbed one and pulled it over your head—it fell to your upper thighs.

“Great, I’m a tent.” You faced your reflection in the mirror, crossing your arms at him.

“You look adorable,” he murmured, kissing your neck. He weaved a hand down your hips and between your legs, watching himself in the mirror. “And there’s easy access,” he teased, rubbing you gently.

You batted his hand away just as there was a knock at the door. “Food,” he murmured, leaving the bedroom to answer. At least there’s more space aboard this ship, you thought. It was nice to have multiple rooms.

You pulled on a pair of his boxers and joined him in the living area. He had set down the plates on a small table against one of the walls, two chairs facing each other. He tapped the back of one. “Sit,” he said, walking into the small kitchen area to pour two glasses of water. You sat down, glancing at your plate: all things you liked. His meal was slightly different—dishes he preferred—but both mirrored each other; heavy on proteins. You sighed.

“Something wrong?” he asked, setting down the glasses and taking the seat opposite you.

“Why the insistence on feeding me a training diet?”

“Because you’re training,” he said simply, scooping some eggs into his mouth.

“I must have missed that.”

“Well,” he paused, swallowing, “You will be soon.”

“Is that so?” you asked incredulously, annoyed by his assumption you’d be joining him.

He made a sound of acknowledgment, continuing to eat as though this was obvious.

You crossed your arms.

“Don’t be obstinate,” he said, gesturing towards your food. “Eat.”

You shot him a look but began eating—you were hungry.

“I don’t know why you’re so resistant to the idea. I can tell you miss your strength. You’re not as happy with your body.” He paused. “I mean, you’re lovely; I’m still happy as happy with your body. But you’re not, and that’s what matters.”

The side of your mouth twitched, and you set down your fork. “So feminist for a Sith lord.”

He chuckled. “I’m not a Sith lord. And I want you to be happy.”

Something caught in your throat; you met each other’s eyes. He was being honest—well, partially. “You seem to have left out the part where you want to manipulate me into serving the First Order.”

“Not manipulate you. Rule together.”

You froze; he was gauging your reaction. You blinked a few times, muscles tensing in your jaw. “I thought you wanted to dominate me,” you said, a sarcastic response the only one you could muster.

He laughed again; the tension faded a bit. “Of course I do. But everyone knows the sub has the power.”

You smirked for a moment, but it evaporated just as fast. You swallowed. “I can’t kill people just because I’ll be doing it with you,” you said, beginning to eat again, “You know that.” You refused to look up from your plate.

He sighed. “That’s what war is.”

“Well your cause is bullshit.”

You knew you’d crossed a line before you’d even finished the word. He leapt out of his chair, grabbing your wrists and glaring down at you. “I’m making the galaxy a better place,” he breathed dangerously. “It’s not my fault you’ve been brainwashed.”

“You’re the one who was brainwashed,” you seethed, struggling in his grasp. He held your wrists tight for a few more moments; you could see him battling rage in his eyes. He seemed to force himself to swallow, releasing your hands. But his chest still rose and fell; he was angry.

“Watch your words,” he hissed. “I won’t make more exceptions for you.” He sat again, avoiding your gaze. You knew he wanted to leave.

Fury rose within you as you sat back down, the man across intent on ignoring you. “What does Snoke think about your little plan to rule with me?” you hissed against all better judgement.

It was his turn to freeze. He met your eyes, an equal level of fury in his. And something else: fear, you sensed. You tensed for a fight—but none came. He set his jaw. “We never had that conversation,” he breathed, a hint of panic in his voice.  

You understood suddenly; you felt a pang of pity for him. Reaching out slowly, you covered one of his hands in yours. “What conversation?”

A brief flash of emotion crossed his face, and he gave a stiff nod. You cleaned your plates in silence, and he headed out the door.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sinning continues.
> 
> cw: like, stretching kink? Idk how to describe this, I'm weird.

You sat in silence for a long time. You buried your face in your hands, almost too frustrated to think—you didn’t want to become a Stockholm-Syndrome prisoner here, didn’t want to forget what he had done to you already. And there was another problem; he was lying to Snoke. Suddenly you worried not only about your own wellbeing, but about his. _Would he come back tonight?_

You tried to calm yourself, to still the thoughts racing in your mind, but it proved too difficult—there was too much to think over, too much to worry about. You stood and moved a coffee table against the wall decisively—you would exercise. You needed to catch up to him in physical strength, regardless of which one of you would turn; you’d need to survive him if he turned you, and you’d need your strength to fight to turn him. While stretching, you cleared your mind of other thoughts. Setting yourself down on the floor, you laid down on your back. Counting the repetitions, you began doing sit-ups. Soon you lost count of how many: that’s how you wanted it, to lose yourself in your movements.

When your abs could take no more, you pushed yourself back to standing position and began doing squats. You closed your eyes, focusing only on your breathing, on the repetitions, and on how your body felt. Soon you felt your legs straining, and you cursed yourself for falling so far out of training shape. This had been enough for security work on Cantonia, but not here: Ren was far stronger. At most you could take down Hux—Phasma specialized in combat, and the troopers were raised from infancy to fight. You needed to be able to best the greatest fighting forces in the galaxy.

Sighing, you straightened up; you caught yourself worrying again. _Calm your mind_. You dropped down to the floor again to do push-ups, focusing on the burn that began seeping into your arms. Your abs ached, begging to stop, but you pushed through until you again lost count of the repetitions. Only when your face hit the floor, arms collapsing out from under you, did you stop. You rolled onto your back and began to cry; you felt so weak, as a person and as a fighter. Here you were, making concessions for a lord of darkness who had interrogated, imprisoned, and tortured you; you loved him, even.

While one part of your mind belittled you for not fighting back hard enough, the other dredged up long-buried memories; Kylo Ren as a child, when he was still Ben. Your Ben. You were a ward of the Temple as a child. Your basic needs were always met, and you were always relatively happy to play among the Temple grounds and learn from the Masters and students there. Meanwhile, Ben came from a wealthy and influential family; the exploits and accomplishments of Han and Leia were legend, as they were with his uncle and maternal grandparents. His parents had always been kind to the wards of the Temple, and their son was no exception; you had played with him since you were both only just learning to read and write.

Once, while playing in the streets with the other children, he noticed you hadn’t packed any snacks. You were too young to feel the shame of poverty, he too young to judge you for it: so you simply told him the truth, that you didn’t have the money for any. He shared his that day—moss chips and warra nuts—and bought you street foods whenever the he and the others did. He continued when you began training together, bringing extra food from home or sharing his lunches when the poorly-funded Temple couldn’t provide enough for you.

And now, you thought with a bittersweet pang in your heart, he thinks he’s doing the same: using his power to provide for you, bringing you foods you liked, making sure you were getting nutrition. You sighed, unconsciously fingering a scar he had left from a training injury; you used to get impossibly furious with each other. Neither of you had ever truly learned to control your emotions or discipline your mind: it spilled out into fighting instead. A sort of mutually-abusive relationship.

Once, when you were older and under the tutelage of Luke, he badly seared skin on your hip in an unsanctioned lightsaber duel. You remembered the fury fading from his eyes in an instant after striking you; he picked you up and took you to his hut, where he laid you down on the bed you often shared; you remembered him gently applying bacta treatments, shooing anyone else away. You had had countless hand-to-hand and melee combat run-ins, too; for every scar on your body, there was one on his. You both used to wear them with pride.

_Jesus Christ, we’re fucked up. We’ve always been fucked up._

You ran a hand through your hair, sitting up. Enough self-pity, you thought. Standing on tired legs, you glanced around the living space; it was much nicer than the one-bedroom area before, furnished a bit more completely. You stretched out on the couch and noticed a set of books spread across the coffee table. Retrieving one, you laid back down and flipped it open. _Restoring Law in a Lawless Galaxy: The Righteous Quest of the First Order_. You snorted and closed the book as quick as you’d opened it. Cute, you thought—he’d left propaganda for you.

You stood and wandered through the bedroom into the refresher. After using it, you paused to read the little pill bottle next to the sink. “Fuck,” you whispered, swallowing one quickly. You noted the time—too late in the afternoon to be convenient every day, but it was what it was. Stomach growling, you pressed a button on the datapad he’d left behind. You chose cuckoo hen, a blend of vegetables, a baked Corellian potato, and milk: Ren always used to nag the shit out of you about getting enough calcium. You rolled your eyes in his absence.

You sat down on the bed to wait, staring into the mirrors mounted on the doors of the closet. You looked a little weary, and you cursed your tussled hair—you’d give anything to tie it up right now, especially to work out. Maybe you’d ask for hair bands. You let out a deep sigh, falling back on the bed. _Great. I’m a housewife. I’m a housewife who has to ask my fucking genocidal partner for hair ties—_

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. Crossing the living room, you tentatively pressed the open button on the door’s datapad—it almost felt as if you shouldn’t be able to open it, but the guards stationed outside eliminated any possibility of you escaping regardless. When the door slid open, however, it wasn’t a trooper you faced.

“Hux,” you breathed in shock as the man pushed gruffly past you. He set a bag containing boxes of your food down on the table, swiveling around to face you as the door slid closed again. A trooper had followed behind him, blaster trained on you.

“ _General_ Hux,” he smirked viciously. “So rude, honestly. You’re just like Ren. No manners.”

“I don’t have time to fuck around with you,” you spat.

He laughed openly, gesturing around the room. “No? Doesn’t look like you’re busy. Or useful.” The words stung. You glared at him.

“Why are you here?” you asked curtly.

“Well,” he started, “It seems Ren’s intent on keeping a pet. He insists you could turn out to be some kind of asset,” he scoffed, his eyes running up and down your body once. “I disagree. I just want you to know that you’ll be dead the instant I have authorization to kill you.”

“Likewise,” you countered without a moment’s hesitation, folding your arms indignantly.

He took a threatening step forward. “Careful, little girl,” he warned. “Ren may like your pretty little mouth, but I don’t.”

You set your jaw, willing yourself to hold your tongue. He turned on one heel and marched away, pausing just outside the door. His eyes lingered on the obnoxiously large blemish Ren made sucking on your neck. “Being his fuckhole won’t keep you safe forever,” he breathed.

The door slid shut before you could lunge at him.

You dropped into one of the chairs at the table, fury coursing through your veins. You reached out with all your anger, calling to Ren; you could see him a moment later, gazing at you as clear as if he was across the table. You couldn’t tell where he was aboard the ship, and you didn’t wait to find out.

“Hux just threatened me,” you hissed. It felt like tattling to a parent; petty, but deliciously so. His face went immediately dark as he shot to his feet.

“What?” he asked, fists balling in his growing rage.

“I ordered lunch. He brought it. He shoved his way into your quarters—“ Ren had already set off, a murderous look on his face. “God, Ren, don’t kill him,” you interjected.

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna fucking do,” you heard him say under his breath. Then you felt a shove, and the connection was gone. He’d forced you out of his mind.

“Shit,” you whispered, resting your forehead in one hand. You ran the hand nervously through your hair, pulling the food towards you. You ate quickly, eating only for necessary fuel, then began to pace. You tried to reach out to Ren again, but there was nothing: only static. He was blocking you from viewing what was happening.

You groaned after an hour of pacing nervously. _Had you gotten someone killed? Surely any confrontation at all would make Snoke angry._ You gulped, walking into the bedroom and throwing yourself down on the bed. You waited more, minutes ticking by as your adrenaline rush faded into exhaustion. Before you could fight it, you fell into an anxious sleep.

You jerked awake to the sound of the tap running. You pushed yourself up so fast you gave yourself a headache; blinking through the pain, you saw Ren washing blood off his gloves in the refresher sink.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed.

“Hux won’t bother you anymore,” Ren said simply.

“Jesus Christ,” you repeated, panic in your voice. You grasped his forearm. “You didn’t—“

“He’s alive,” he interjected. “Barely.”

Your hand fell away. Honestly, you couldn’t have expected to tell Ren and not end up with a severely injured Hux. You cursed yourself, biting a lip. “You didn’t have to—“

“Yes, I did,” he cut across you again, frustration clear in his voice. “And don’t pretend you didn’t want me to.” He took a breath. “And he’s beneath you,” he added, turning off the faucet and drying his ungloved hands.

You remained silent. He was mad; at you or at Hux, you couldn’t tell. Probably both. He left the refresher, his boots making for heavy footsteps against the tile. When you followed a moment later, he was pulling off his bloodstained clothes. You sat tentatively on the bed; you could feel rage still radiating off him.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. He paused. You could see him struggling to control himself as he turned to face you.

“You’re not a perfect little princess,” he hissed. “You’re not sweet and innocent. You wanted me to hurt him. And I did. So you’re welcome,” he finished, stripping off his combat tunic and throwing it down.

“You’re right,” you breathed, tears forming in your eyes. “I wanted you to hurt him. Because I couldn’t. I’m just as bad,” you sobbed, closing your eyes. You could practically sense him roll his eyes. He sighed.

He knelt down in front of you, wiping your tears away gruffly with his thumbs. You choked them back and took a few deep breaths, willing yourself to calm. He placed his hands on your waist, pausing for a moment and looking away.

“He called you my fuckhole,” he started hesitantly. You flinched but nodded. The corner of his mouth slowly turned up, a look of mischief creeping across his face. He met your eyes. “Only sometimes,” he whispered, the seductive edge clear in his voice as he forced his mouth on yours. He pried your lips open with his tongue while he spread your legs with his hands, pushing you up the bed as he climbed on top of you.

“Ren—“ you started.

“No,” he said, grabbing a pillow from above you. “No talking to me. Not unless it’s dirty talk.” He flipped you over onto your stomach with apparent ease, pulling your hips up and sliding the pillow underneath them. “Or begging,” he added quickly, yanking your bottoms off, then your shirt, then his shirt. You watched him fumble with his belt in the mirror, gulping as he yanked it off fast and threw it down hard. He positioned himself over you, folding his body so his chest pressed against your back, his lips at your ear.

“You like watching, don’t you?” he whispered, reaching down to rub your clit. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you breathed, flushing at his touch.

“What do you like?” he prompted breathlessly, moving your hair to the side.

“I like watching you. In the mirror,” you breathed, voice hitching.

“You’re gonna watch as I fuck you, aren’t you?” he asked, penetrating you with two fingers.

“Yes,” you said, moaning as he twisted his fingers inside you. “I’m gonna watch you fuck me.”

“You haven’t been pounded out in a while,” he purred into your ear, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “You’re so fucking tight around me.” He pulled out a moment later, and you felt his hips pull up. He kissed your cheek, grasping himself and teasing your entrance. “My cock will fix that.”

He didn’t wait for a response before shoving himself in. You cried out in pain, watching pleasure cross his face as he sank into you. He gripped your hips, pushing slowly into you, the full weight of his body bearing down on you. He paused for a moment when he was fully inside you, kissing and sucking on your neck. His right hand snaked into your hair, grabbing a fist of it and holding you in place, forcing you to look into the mirror. His left arm dipped under yours and gripped your shoulder, pulling him against you.

“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”

Your walls contracted around him, and you could feel his cock twitch. “I’m ready,” you whispered.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled mostly out of you, then pushed back in. He picked up speed, thrusting up into you hard each time. He was watching in the mirror, too, his body shoving up and against yours.

“You’re a filthy little girl,” he said, voice velvet. “You’re so wet for me. You love this.”

“I love this,” you echoed, voice only a whisper through his thrusts.

He groaned, his hands leaving you and moving under your hips instead, pulling you up onto your knees while still inside you. Then he grasped your forearms, placing them flat against the bed. You grasped the sheets

“You can absorb it like that,” he said breathlessly, thrusting into you again, hard. Your body jerked forward and you pushed back on him, meeting his thrusts. His hands left your body in favor of holding himself up when you found your rhythm; you felt small underneath him—he was leaning over you now, straining into you.

“You’re not going to be so tight after this,” he groaned in your ear. He thrust into you once more and pulled out with a soft pop. A small moan of loss escaped your lips; you saw him smile. He straightened up, his thumbs spreading your labia; you felt his eyes on your entrance. “Fuck,” he whispered, shoving himself unceremoniously back in you. He leaned over you again. “You have such a tiny little pink hole. But I’ll have you gaping for me when I’m done with you.”

You moaned he pounded back into you, one of his hands starting to rub your clit hard. “Great,” you moaned as your walls tugged at his cock, “I’m being manhandled.”

“You want to be fucking manhandled,” he growled, nipping at your ear. You stared at him in the mirror; he was so focused, so present with you. There was lust etched on his features, but there was love, too. It was there in the way he looked at you. He put a series of especially hard thrusts to you, pausing to catch his breath, fully buried in you. He didn’t want to cum. You stilled, catching your own breath as his eyes ran over you in the mirror. He played with your breasts for a moment before pulling out. Again his thumbs parted your labia, gently spreading your entrance for him. He groaned his desire, and again his cock plunged inside you.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. You’re such a perfect little cocksleeve,” he breathed into your ear. “You were made for this. Made for _me_.” Your walls tightened around him at the word, tugging at him hard. He smiled again, broader this time, and rocked into you; he was willing himself not to finish. Instead he focused on your clit, moving in and out of your slowly as he rubbed you hard in the circles you needed to cum. “I’m going to ruin you,” he whispered to you, voice soft and deep and in control. Your breath hitched. “You’re my perfect little slut,” he breathed. “Mine.” He emphasized the last word, rubbing your clit hard; this time, when your walls contracted around him, it was too much. “Cum around my cock,” he commanded, and you cried out at the fullness.

He grabbed your shoulders, holding you up as you came hard, milking his cock. He remained perfectly still, straining against the urge to buck up into you and seek his own release. When you stilled a moment later, he pulled out slowly, gaping your entrance again. You heard him groan through the fog of your orgasm. “You should see how stretched open you are,” he murmured, and you heard something fly into his hand. Then you jumped, the cool touch of metal pressing just into your entrance. “ _That_ open,” he breathed, removing the object just as fast.

The hilt of his lightsaber.

“You’re perverted,” you breathed.

“So are you,” he groaned, mounting you again. “One last push, love,” he purred, stretching you onto his cock again. He pressed you down into the bed again, hips propped up by the pillow, and started pounding hard. “Who do you belong to,” he panted.

“You,” you breathed.

“Tell me,” he insisted breathlessly.

“I belong to you.”

“Yes you do.” He grunted and bucked up into you hard, burying himself and collapsing as he spilled himself deep inside you. He caught his breath for a minute, then slowly pulled out, laying on his back and pulling you on top of him.

He stroked your hair. “I hope you can’t walk,” he teased, voice low and playful.  You rolled your eyes. He smirked. Then a pause. “Did you enjoy yourself?” You nodded on his chest. “Verbal answer, please.” You smiled; he wanted to make sure everything was alright.

“Yes. I enjoyed myself.”

“Good,” he murmured, hand running through your hair. “Me too.” You stretched out on him and yawned. He wrapped other arm around you. “Sleepy?”

“Mhm hm.”

A pause. “Did you take your birth control?”

“Yes.”

He resumed stroking your hair, one hand held out to force-pull the covers up to your shoulders. Then he snaked it under the covers, setting it on your lower back. You stayed like that for a while, just laying with each other, listening to the other’s breathing. You could hear his heart beating—human after all. He smelled like Ben; tears formed in your eyes.

His hand stopped; he could sense something had changed. You pushed yourself up on his chest, looking at him. He met your eyes.

“You know I’ll always be here?” you asked tearfully.

He blinked and dropped his gaze, sucking on his lower lip. “So join me.”

You shook your head, one tear escaping and running down your cheek.

“Please.” His voice broke on the word, soft and full of emotion.

“I can’t,” you whispered, choking back more tears. “But I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”  You could sense emotion swirling in him, showing in his eyes, but he said nothing. “Credit for your thoughts?” you whispered.

He paused, setting his jaw. “What do you want to do, then?” he asked, his hands gesturing in frustration. “Stay in my rooms and have a family? Hate me during the day but love me at night?” He forced himself to swallow; tears were also in his eyes, though he didn’t cry any. “You can’t stay like this forever,” he said, pushing himself to sit up on the bed.

“Make me go, then.”

“I can’t do that,” he said shortly.

“Kill me.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. He tried to push you off him, but you grabbed his shoulders, straddling his lap.

“Ben,” you murmured.

“Don’t!” he warned.

But you could feel the conflict within him. “Ben,” you whispered, hands on either side of his face. “You’re not alone. I’ll help you.”

“He’s gone,” he said, voice raw.

You shook your head. “You’re right here.” You sat in silence for minutes, each collecting your thoughts. Then you swung one leg off him, kneeling beside him instead. “Lay back down,” you murmured gently. He looked at you, eyes wide and full of emotion. “Come on,” you reassured him, coaxing him into your arms. “Problems for tomorrow, mhm?”

He laid there quietly; you switched out the lights.

“You think I’m doing wrong,” he said slowly, tentatively.

“Yes,” you hesitated but answered with the truth.

“You’re scared of me,” he added, a hint of disgust in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Then why ‘always’?”

“I love you,” you breathed in explanation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You could see the conflict in his eyes as he stared ahead. He was lost. You planted a kiss on his cheek. “Shh,” you whispered, his thoughts almost as loud as real voices. “Just go to sleep now.” He threaded his fingers through yours; your eyes closed, and the world soon fell away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the last update on this fic for a little while. Focusing on 'Let's See' and 'Mercurial' right now (the former is a nice, happy, lighter one -- the latter is darkkkk afffffff)


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